Page 50 of The Assistant
“Do you need anything?” Dawson asks. There’s a hopefulness in his voice as he tries to communicate with me, but I don’t want to give him anything. I don’t respond. I don’t even shake my head. He waits a moment and then leaves.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, and I don’t remember trying to fall asleep, but I do wake up with the sun blaring in my face and birds chirping outside. It reminds me of just how normal everything else is in the world. All the light might have vanished from my life, but the sun still rises, and the birds still sing. Theworld carries on regardless of the terrible things that happen every single day.
The bedroom door opens, and Dawson walks in with some scrambled eggs and toast, sitting down on the corner of the bed and offering me the plate. Once again, I don’t say anything. I just look out the window at the backyard with the grass that’s a little too long and birds skipping between the blades.
“You have to eat something. If you’re going to recover, you’ll need all the strength you can get,” Dawson says in a soft voice. When I don’t answer, he eventually gives up and leaves the plate on the nightstand before leaving.
He comes back around lunchtime with some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which I also reject. The only help I do accept is when he helps me shower. I need to wash the filth of last night off of me more than I need to ignore him. Still, I don’t say anything to him as he helps me.
“Talk to me, please,” Dawson practically begs when he sits me back down on the bed with freshly changed sheets. I don’t say anything.
After the revelation of what happened last night, I can look back at the past with clear vision. Everything looks different.
I was told that I had to work for Dawson for a year to get into art school, but I know now that was never going to happen. Henry just used that as an excuse to get me to stay with Dawson so he could keep an eye on me. Dawson knew about that, and he let me believe it. He let me get my hopes up that one day I would actually get to live out my dream.
He knew what would happen, and he took my virginity, anyway. That’s all Malik wanted from me. He wanted a virgin bride, andI was handed to him on a silver platter, and Dawson decided he was going to ruin that. Every ache in my body is a reminder of how selfishly Dawson handled that situation.
On Wednesday when we rushed out of town for an emergency meeting with Xander, it was because of this. Looking back, I know now that’s because of the appointment Malik mentioned I missed. I was supposed to be evaluated by that doctor then to see if I was still a virgin, and they would have found out that I wasn’t. It wasn’t to keep me safe. It was so Dawson could buy himself some more time.
Everything that’s happened between us has a brand new, glaring light shining on it, and I don’t know if I can forgive him. He lied to me and betrayed my trust. He got me to tell him things that I never thought I would tell a soul, and all the while he knew I was supposed to be sold off to Malik. In my eyes, Dawson is as much of a monster as he is.
By the time the sun is setting, Dawson knocks on my door and lets himself in regardless of my clear disinterest in seeing him. He’s not carrying food this time, clearly realizing I’m not going to eat anything he makes me. Instead, he carries a brand-new sketchbook and a myriad of pencils and drawing supplies.
“I thought you might like this,” Dawson says as he sets the art tools down on the bed beside me. “Look, I understand that you don’t want to talk to me right now. If I were in your shoes, I’d be upset too. But you have to trust that I did everything in my power to protect you. I failed, and that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. But now that you’re here, I just want you to get better.”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to respond, and I don’t. After a moment he lets out a slow exhale and nods, acceptingthat I don’t want to speak to him. He just leaves the art supplies on my bed and walks out of the room.
I pick up the sketchbook and consider trying to lose myself in my art, but I’m too depressed to even try. The thought of holding a pencil in my hand and trying to think of something that would bring me joy is nearly impossible. It’s taking everything in my power not to break down and sob uncontrollably as is.
Instead, I put the drawing supplies on the nightstand and lie down to close my eyes. I’m used to Dawson insisting that I sleep alongside him now, but we are somewhere else, and we’re supposedly safe, so he doesn’t.
Sleep finds me, and for the first few blissful hours, I am away from the torment that has been haunting me since Friday. But then it infiltrates my dreams, and all I can think about is being dragged into Malik’s brothel and tossed into a room while people peeked their heads in to see who was waiting there. I think about the person who saw me battered and bloody and thought I was exactly who they wanted to fuck for the night.
I still feel the man’s breath on my neck as I think about him holding me against the mattress and calling me names. I scream out and beg for him to stop as he fights to hold me still on the mattress.
The light turns on in the room, and I’m awoken from my sleep, covered in sweat with the blankets twisted around me. My breath is ragged, and the dream clings to me like reality, which it very unfortunately was.
“What’s wrong?” Dawson asks with worry thick in his voice.
“It was just a dream,” I say, still panting from the panic I felt. I lean forward and hold my head in my hands as I try to fight the memories resurfacing all over again.
I think about my stepdad when I was fourteen, Malik, Richard, the man from the brothel, and everyone else who’s ever hurt me. I can’t fight the memories like I used to.
Dawson approaches and sits on the edge of the bed as he rubs his hand in a circle on my back. Neither of us says anything while I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think about something that makes me happy. It’s hard to find, but it’s enough to help me calm down.
“It was only a dream. You’re safe now,” Dawson whispers as he continues massaging my shoulders. “I’m right here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I don’t say anything. Rather, I focus on deep breathing to calm my nerves. It takes a few minutes, but I am able to force the dream away and focus on the present, where I’m in a room that nobody knows about, and I’m actually safe.
I lie back down to go to sleep again, and instead of leaving the room, Dawson grabs an extra pillow from the bed and sets it on the floor beside it. I look at him curiously as he settles down to sleep on the floor beside the bed.
A part of me is touched that he would go through something as uncomfortable as sleeping on the floor just to make sure I’m comfortable. A small part of my mind is telling me that Dawson has protected me, and he did save me.
But then again, none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for him.
Chapter 27
Dawson
